


Lock

by daftfear



Series: The Whole Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Oneshot, PWP, Rating: NC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daftfear/pseuds/daftfear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy knows better than most, there are many different kinds of drugs. (Short PWP oneshot for fun!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lock

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a three-part set, to get back into the swing of writing H/D. I will post the sequels shortly. I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know if you did. :)

Lock

The kiss is hot and furious. His mouth against mine, lightly chapped lips pushing mine apart, his tongue demands admittance. The skin beneath my hands is scorching, slicked with sweat, and I can’t get enough. I tug him closer, yanking at the belt around his waist. He bucks his hips into me, the solid rock of his body rutting against me. One leg between mine, he pushes harder against me. Hands grab fistfuls of my hair, and he moans into my mouth. 

I can taste him. Burnt tea and mint chewing gum and just a hint of Honeydukes chocolate. His tongue slips against mine, the taste of him completely intoxicating. Like my first Firewhisky, I didn’t know I’d lost my head until it was too late—I was drunk. 

I’m drunk now too, but Firewhisky has nothing to do with it.

“Yes,” he says, breathy and wanton, his mouth never leaving mine. He angles his body, hips rolling into mine, and his cock strains against mine, through trousers and pants and far too much clothing. 

My hand slides around his side, beneath the tight fabric of his trousers, to find his arse, toned and gorgeous and begging for me. I want it so badly I think I might burst, combust in the heat of it. I can barely breathe for the wanting.

His hands find their way down, beneath my robes, and pull at my shirt. His burning fingers leave trails of molten skin in their wake until, finally, he slides one hand down the front of my trousers. I gasp—can’t help it—when his grip tightens around my cock. The waistband of my pants cuts into my skin, but I can’t feel it. He pumps at my shaft, wrist twisting just slightly at the tip. 

“Fuck,” I say, searching for his cock beneath his clothing, wanting to even the score. He’s so hard it must hurt; I know the feeling. He twitches in my grasp, his kiss becoming more and more insistent.

Then it’s almost a competition. As I twist my hand, he tightens his. I pump faster, he slows, drawing out every last stroke to the point of shining frustration. But I want him too badly, and I think he wants me.

I stroke faster, smoother, and he matches my pace. He is as close as he can be with both our hands between us. His mouth is still on mine, but there is little kissing. We breathe into each other, gasping, moaning, needing. I bite down on his lower lip and he shudders. 

His fingers tighten around me again, drawing out the madness, building me up to the brink before pulling back, just enough. Just enough to kill me.

Finally, I can feel it. In both of us. The blinding crest of the wave. So close, I’m almost there. We both are. He presses in closer, as though to erase the space between us for the final moment, and—

“Why’s the bloody broom cupboard locked?”

In a flash, we’re apart, clothes rumpled beyond adjustment, chests heaving. Weasley always ruins everything.

Potter stares at me, his green eyes almost eclipsed by his pupils. His lips are parting, panting, and I can only stare at them. I can still taste him.

It’s like he’s under a spell, his eyes focused on me just as mine are trained on him. Panic killed the moment, but I can see it in Potter’s eyes. He wants back there. He wants me.

Footsteps outside the door remind us, again, we aren’t alone. I hastily shove my shirt back into my trousers and adjust my belt. Potter does the same, shrugging back into his robes. Fingers carding through my hair, I wonder if it’s worth trying not to look thoroughly shagged. I don’t think its possible to salvage this, but I don’t have a choice. 

Weasley will be back any minute. Or someone else. We have to get out of here.

I brush my hair back again and take stock of my clothing. Close enough, I decide. I move to leave, to open the door, but Potter catches my hand.

“Malfoy,” he says, and when I turn back, I find his gaze intense, demanding, still wanton. 

Unable to resist, I pull him into a kiss, one more. Just one. Enough to tide me over until next time.

“You fucked up,” I say to him. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted, asking for more. “I pick the next place.”

Then I leave, heart pounding. Step out the door and don’t turn back. If I do, I’ll just run back to him. I always do.

I touch my lips—my raw, red lips. Already I want another taste. 

I’m just not sure how much more of this I can take.


End file.
